King Arthur snippet: Tools of the Trade
Jan. 26th, 2006 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amari_zTitle: Tools of the Trade
Warnings: None
Notes. This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sasha_b's fault. She wanted more, so blame her. A little piece of fic that follows Resurrection. Not very edited.
Arthur stepped into the bedroom with trepidation. It has been nearly a week since Lancelot had returned to him, and, while that week had been wonderful in so many ways that made him warm inside to contemplate, Lancelot would not be Lancelot if he was not constantly questioning and arguing with Arthur. Arthur had to admit that he had forgotten just how exhausting it could be.
Tonight, for the first time since Lancelot had awoken, Arthur had left the house to attend a meeting. Lancelot, who was still raising his eyebrows in amused disbelief at things like Kleenex and zippers, was not ready to go out in public, no matter what he said. He had been angry at being told he was to be left behind. As Arthur had walked out the door, he had been yelling something like “You can’t keep me locked up in this fucking house forever, Arthur!” Arthur had rolled his eyes—this “fucking house” was a mansion with over fifty rooms and 20 acres of grounds. Arthur had been sure to give a grinning Dagonet very earnest instructions to keep his eyes on Lancelot—and to sit on him if he went near the garage. Gawain, Gaheris and Galahad had been teaching Lancelot to drive, which Lancelot had taken to with great glee, but which had Arthur on the verge of numerous heart attacks even before they had switched from cars to motorcycles.
So he was pleased and surprised to enter the room to find Lancelot peacefully sprawled out on the bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine. One of the great advantages of the magic that had brought them back to life was, in addition to being able to speak English, they also somehow had the ability to read it—which was especially disconcerting for those of the knights who had been illiterate in their previous lives.
“I’m back,” he said cautiously.
Lancelot glanced up, a smile in his eyes, “So I see.”
Arthur could not do anything but smile back, helplessly. After a moment of staring, he cleared his throat and said, “Look—about earlier, I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me—”
Lancelot looked back down at the magazine, but waved a hand, “I’m not mad about that anymore.” Arthur felt a moment of relief before Lancelot looked up again, eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in public with my ignorance, after all.”
“Lancelot—” Arthur sighed and dropped it, knowing he could not win. He walked over to the bed and sat down. “What are you looking at?”
Lancelot rolled over and up so he was kneeling on the bed next to Arthur and then thrust the open magazine under Arthur’s nose. “I want this.”
Arthur looked down and then snatched the magazine out of Lancelot’s hand. He turned to the cover, and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
“Bors. He had a bunch of them.” Arthur should have known. Six months in this time and the knights had taken to the modern world with remarkable, and often frightening, thoroughness. Lancelot flipped the magazine back to the page he had been looking at. “I want this,” he repeated.
“No!”
“I want—”
“I said no!”
“Arthur—”
“Do you even understand what these things are?” Arthur growled.
Lancelot looked affronted. “I haven’t done nothing the last couple days. I’ve spoken to the others about weapons. You said no swords, but—”
“We’re not here to kill people, Lancelot!”
Lancelot settled back on heels and gave Arthur a narrow-eyed look. “Then what the fuck are we doing here, Arthur? We’re knights—we fought our whole lives. What else do we know how to do?” His voice had gone bitter.
“It’s not that kind of war, Lancelot!”
Lancelot tossed the magazine to the floor and was off the bed in one smooth move. “I don’t know of any other kind. If you needed politicians and diplomats, you should have brought some of them back from the dead!”
He was at the door before Arthur caught up to him. Arthur seized his shoulder and swung him around. He nearly expected Lancelot to hit him, but all the younger man did was glare. His body was vibrating under Arthur’s hand.
Arthur took a deep breath. After that first conversation, Lancelot had handled his entry into this new life with remarkable equanimity. Arthur should have expected that there was far more going on under the surface.
Not caring if Lancelot did punch him, Arthur pulled Lancelot’s stiff body into his arms and held him close. Lancelot felt tense—brittle. It was a long moment before he relaxed, and then his arms came up to clutch at Arthur’s back. “How,” he asked, his voice muffled in Arthur’s shirt, “am I suppose to protect you without weapons?”
Arthur only stroked his hair. It would take far more than a week for Lancelot to begin to understand how different this modern world was from their own.
But as often was the case, Lancelot seemed to know what he was thinking. “I may not have been here very long,” Lancelot continued, his fingers digging into the muscles of Arthur’s back, “but people can’t be that different. I’m afraid you’re naïve to think that people will surrender power without violence.” He let out a long sigh, and Arthur could felt the warmth of it even though his shirt. “At least we should be prepared.”
Arthur frowned, not wanting to acknowledge that Lancelot might have a point. He had been thrilled with the idea that in this time countries were modeled after the old Republic—peaceful choice by the people. But, even in the golden age of the Republic, there had always been violence. He loosened his arms and pulled Lancelot to the bed. It was late, and they should go to sleep soon. Reluctantly, he conceded, “I’ll think about it.”
Lancelot looked at him, and something glittered in his eyes that gave Arthur pause. Lancelot pulled his shirt over his head, and so obscured Arthur’s view of his face, but it was too late. “Lancelot,” Arthur said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done?”
Lancelot tossed his shirt on to the bed. “Tristan said he knew someone,” he said at last.
Arthur pressed his hand over his eyes. Oh, by God. Was he going to have to start searching the knights for concealed firearms? He already knew they could not resist keeping knives and other small pointy objects secreted about their persons. “He’s getting you that gun?” he said through gritted teeth.
“No,” Lancelot said, but Arthur’s relief was only momentary. Lancelot gave Arthur an utterly unrepentant grin. “He’s getting me two.”
Warnings: None
Notes. This is
sasha_b's fault. She wanted more, so blame her. A little piece of fic that follows Resurrection. Not very edited.Arthur stepped into the bedroom with trepidation. It has been nearly a week since Lancelot had returned to him, and, while that week had been wonderful in so many ways that made him warm inside to contemplate, Lancelot would not be Lancelot if he was not constantly questioning and arguing with Arthur. Arthur had to admit that he had forgotten just how exhausting it could be.
Tonight, for the first time since Lancelot had awoken, Arthur had left the house to attend a meeting. Lancelot, who was still raising his eyebrows in amused disbelief at things like Kleenex and zippers, was not ready to go out in public, no matter what he said. He had been angry at being told he was to be left behind. As Arthur had walked out the door, he had been yelling something like “You can’t keep me locked up in this fucking house forever, Arthur!” Arthur had rolled his eyes—this “fucking house” was a mansion with over fifty rooms and 20 acres of grounds. Arthur had been sure to give a grinning Dagonet very earnest instructions to keep his eyes on Lancelot—and to sit on him if he went near the garage. Gawain, Gaheris and Galahad had been teaching Lancelot to drive, which Lancelot had taken to with great glee, but which had Arthur on the verge of numerous heart attacks even before they had switched from cars to motorcycles.
So he was pleased and surprised to enter the room to find Lancelot peacefully sprawled out on the bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine. One of the great advantages of the magic that had brought them back to life was, in addition to being able to speak English, they also somehow had the ability to read it—which was especially disconcerting for those of the knights who had been illiterate in their previous lives.
“I’m back,” he said cautiously.
Lancelot glanced up, a smile in his eyes, “So I see.”
Arthur could not do anything but smile back, helplessly. After a moment of staring, he cleared his throat and said, “Look—about earlier, I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me—”
Lancelot looked back down at the magazine, but waved a hand, “I’m not mad about that anymore.” Arthur felt a moment of relief before Lancelot looked up again, eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in public with my ignorance, after all.”
“Lancelot—” Arthur sighed and dropped it, knowing he could not win. He walked over to the bed and sat down. “What are you looking at?”
Lancelot rolled over and up so he was kneeling on the bed next to Arthur and then thrust the open magazine under Arthur’s nose. “I want this.”
Arthur looked down and then snatched the magazine out of Lancelot’s hand. He turned to the cover, and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
“Bors. He had a bunch of them.” Arthur should have known. Six months in this time and the knights had taken to the modern world with remarkable, and often frightening, thoroughness. Lancelot flipped the magazine back to the page he had been looking at. “I want this,” he repeated.
“No!”
“I want—”
“I said no!”
“Arthur—”
“Do you even understand what these things are?” Arthur growled.
Lancelot looked affronted. “I haven’t done nothing the last couple days. I’ve spoken to the others about weapons. You said no swords, but—”
“We’re not here to kill people, Lancelot!”
Lancelot settled back on heels and gave Arthur a narrow-eyed look. “Then what the fuck are we doing here, Arthur? We’re knights—we fought our whole lives. What else do we know how to do?” His voice had gone bitter.
“It’s not that kind of war, Lancelot!”
Lancelot tossed the magazine to the floor and was off the bed in one smooth move. “I don’t know of any other kind. If you needed politicians and diplomats, you should have brought some of them back from the dead!”
He was at the door before Arthur caught up to him. Arthur seized his shoulder and swung him around. He nearly expected Lancelot to hit him, but all the younger man did was glare. His body was vibrating under Arthur’s hand.
Arthur took a deep breath. After that first conversation, Lancelot had handled his entry into this new life with remarkable equanimity. Arthur should have expected that there was far more going on under the surface.
Not caring if Lancelot did punch him, Arthur pulled Lancelot’s stiff body into his arms and held him close. Lancelot felt tense—brittle. It was a long moment before he relaxed, and then his arms came up to clutch at Arthur’s back. “How,” he asked, his voice muffled in Arthur’s shirt, “am I suppose to protect you without weapons?”
Arthur only stroked his hair. It would take far more than a week for Lancelot to begin to understand how different this modern world was from their own.
But as often was the case, Lancelot seemed to know what he was thinking. “I may not have been here very long,” Lancelot continued, his fingers digging into the muscles of Arthur’s back, “but people can’t be that different. I’m afraid you’re naïve to think that people will surrender power without violence.” He let out a long sigh, and Arthur could felt the warmth of it even though his shirt. “At least we should be prepared.”
Arthur frowned, not wanting to acknowledge that Lancelot might have a point. He had been thrilled with the idea that in this time countries were modeled after the old Republic—peaceful choice by the people. But, even in the golden age of the Republic, there had always been violence. He loosened his arms and pulled Lancelot to the bed. It was late, and they should go to sleep soon. Reluctantly, he conceded, “I’ll think about it.”
Lancelot looked at him, and something glittered in his eyes that gave Arthur pause. Lancelot pulled his shirt over his head, and so obscured Arthur’s view of his face, but it was too late. “Lancelot,” Arthur said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done?”
Lancelot tossed his shirt on to the bed. “Tristan said he knew someone,” he said at last.
Arthur pressed his hand over his eyes. Oh, by God. Was he going to have to start searching the knights for concealed firearms? He already knew they could not resist keeping knives and other small pointy objects secreted about their persons. “He’s getting you that gun?” he said through gritted teeth.
“No,” Lancelot said, but Arthur’s relief was only momentary. Lancelot gave Arthur an utterly unrepentant grin. “He’s getting me two.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 03:42 am (UTC)I wouldn't complain if you went back to this 'verse now and then. It's just like seeing The Seven Samurai become The Magnificent Seven, and loving both despite the vastly different aesthetics.
And yes, it's all Ashley's fault.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 03:58 am (UTC)We'll see if I manage more--clearly I'm impressionable and easily led, so if Ash asks, I may just succumb : )
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:13 am (UTC)LOVE IT. LOVE IT. Poor, trusting Arthur, and his noble ideas that he can actually trust those men in the modern world by themselves. And leave it to Tristan to already "know someone." I love the fact that Lancelot was able to restrain himself from hitting Arthur too, because he totally would. A little maturity, perhaps? Or maybe he's just still too overwhelmed.
I love the image of him sprawled on the bed with a gun magazine. *tries to get mind out of gutter, fails*
Yes. More. Now. Please???? *bats eyes* I'll owe you big time.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:30 am (UTC)I love the fact that Lancelot was able to restrain himself from hitting Arthur too, because he totally would. A little maturity, perhaps? Or maybe he's just still too overwhelmed.; )
Or Lancelot might be still be mellow from the being dead high, or maybe he's already arranged for a whole arsenal for the knights behind Arthur's back--who knows?
I love the image of him sprawled on the bed with a gun magazine.
Heheh. I was also thinking of a little kid with a toy catalog, demanding: I want this!
Glad you enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:38 am (UTC)And yes, good point about L being mellow from the "dead high". Reminds me of Buffy at the beginning of Season Six after she's been resurrected.
And yes, it may be my fault, but after reading this I started immediately writing the next installment of lbts. Damn you. :p
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:42 am (UTC)Oh wait a minute . . . .
Huh. Well, hurry up, anyway. : )
Don't kill me, but I've never watched Buffy.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:44 am (UTC)Oh, I wouldn't kill you for not watching Buffy. If you get a chance, you should. It's in all honesty probably one of the best shows I've ever and will ever watch. That's also the reason I started watching Firefly, and ended up buying the box set. Joss Whedon can write like nobody's business.
I'm doing this lbts for the current kaff challenge. Nice and bloody, I hope. :p
no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 04:56 am (UTC)Yeah! more LBTS, and bloody!--I'm kinda sick, but I'm looking forward to that. :P
no subject
Date: 2006-01-28 08:57 am (UTC)This is such an awesome AU - poor Arthur. It must have been hard enough to keep Lancelot out of trouble before they invented weapons of mass destruction.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-28 09:52 pm (UTC)I think Arthur might have some hard times ahead. ; )
no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 01:27 am (UTC)I love this series, and I'm glad to see that you're still writing in this 'verse. Gives me more goodies to look forward to! :-)
no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-18 05:59 pm (UTC)